Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn. - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

They parted — ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining — They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between; — But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been.

Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together
Thoughts so all unlike each other;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.

Every reform, however necessary, will by weak minds be carried to an excess, that itself will need reforming.